Bone Lines

by Stephanie Bretherton

  Will she be accepted? Will they recognise the markings on her spear, the record of her skill? There is no way to tell. But she realises now that she has seen none among them carrying a bow, none making arrows. Perhaps she can offer them something of value, after all.

  Her daughter wakes and grows impatient while strapped to her back, wriggling and pulling at her mother’s hair, though she has learned well the necessity of silence and obedience. She moves away from her vantage point now, does not want her child to see what she has seen, not yet. Or to alert those she is watching should her restless young daughter decide to make any noise. She takes this time to distract her, devising a game for her, one that her own mother had taught her. She finds as many pebbles as they both have fingers and sorts them into the most similar pairs. She hides each stone separately under a leaf and the child must turn over one leaf at a time and then replace it, trying to remember where each pebble is hidden. When she finds a matching pair within two turns of a leaf, they are taken out of the game until at last, she matches them all.

  The triumph on that tiny face when the task is complete is enough to assure her mother that the little one must be given the chance to live with others, to play, to learn, to grow. But not yet, not as the dusk draws in and she can hold the child closely while she sleeps, hers alone for at least one more night. Whatever may come.

  They return to hide and rest high up in the trees, and as the child sleeps she keeps her watch to the dawn. In the darkness, she is reassured that the risk must be taken, for while she can see nothing of the new clan now, she can hear them. These people know music. Their voices lift and fall and fade and surge together, in chants she does not recognise and yet somehow understands. The voices of men and women, young and old. The meaning of the music is unknown but undeniable, she feels it in her heart. These are chants of joy, of gratitude. And the sound is more beautiful to her now than any other she remembers.

  In the morning the hunger begins to gnaw, in spite of the single egg she had emptied, one of a speckled pair taken with some sadness from the nest of the bird with feathers like the rising sun.

  They must go towards the camp. Yes, they must take their chance. As the day flows upwards to its fullest height, she is ready.

  Now. She leaves the basket behind and walks out from her hide, the child on her hip. They do not see her until it is far too late to turn and run should they meet with reactions of fear or hate. She stops, and slowly, one by one, without sound, so do they. They are smaller than her, their eyes, even as they widen with shock have the look of one who has just awoken, but they are people, people like her.

  She lets the child slip down from her hip so she can stand on her own sturdy feet. Drops of liquid begin to pool in her eyes and to blur her sight. She is still now and lifts her head high, though she feels that her legs may not hold faith. She abandons her spear, unstraps the bow and the bear bone from her back and lets them fall in front of her. She stands.

  Then one of their young approaches, too late to be pulled back by its mother. He runs towards her daughter, who has never seen another child before but is unafraid. The boy reaches out, touches her cheek, her mane of hair, then takes the little shell-walker from her hand as it is held out in offering. The smile that has kept her mother alive for so long comes easily, followed by curious laughter from the little boy. Some of the adults walk so near now, almost within an arm’s reach. Her legs fail her, the world grows white and then black, and she falls. Falls into the willing embrace of the tall, waving grass.

  26

  It was a day of introductions – and goodbyes. KC had brought his luggage to the Institute as he was flying home that night, immediately after their joint interview with the documentary team. The lab was busy, a gathering in honour of Sarah, and the producers had brought Max Michaelson back to film a sequence of him meeting her reconstruction face-to-face. Eloise had feared this might come across a little cheesy and was about to go and get a coffee, but was drawn back to watch as the moment played out in a surprisingly poignant way. Max became visibly moved, and even Marcy the ever time-conscious director grew misty-eyed and lingered over the scene.

  Today, Max had been accompanied by his wife, Jessica, who was not quite as Eloise had imagined her (not at all, if she was honest). There was none of the glamour that she might have expected, in its place was more of a discreet English rose. She told Eloise that she was a nurse and was very interested in the research that was going on in the lab, but Eloise had no time to continue the conversation as she and KC were then summoned to take their places in front of the camera. She watched the couple for a moment longer, as the film crew set up their angles, and saw the way that Jessica nestled under her husband’s arm as if she had been designed to fit there. They were clearly very close and this was an experience that Max was keen to share.

  Eloise was pleased to have met Jessica, who seemed to be a lovely young woman, if quiet and inconspicuous – apart from the startling glint of sunset in her otherwise hazel eyes when they caught the right light. She had never seen eye colouring like it. She watched the couple say their mutual, carefree farewells to the crew and felt happy about their happiness, glad that such contentment existed in the world.

  As microphones were clipped on and tested, Eloise found herself throwing regular glances over at KC’s minimal luggage, stacked casually in a corner. It seemed inadequate. She had nothing against packing light but the sum total of his baggage was insufficient somehow. Surely he must have needed more, or have acquired more while he had been here. What else might he be casting aside to leave behind?

  KC’s was not the only impending departure. Soon Sarah, too, would be packed up and ready for her own journey home. She had earned it, given them enough, a priceless bequest. A full and complete double helix. Sequenced, mapped and compared for variation against layers of controls from various present-day human genotypes in the GenBank, as well as ancestral patterns from ancient hominins and also, for good measure, the chimpanzee genome.

  Before Eloise could gather her thoughts the cameras were rolling and the questions were being fired.

  ‘So, you two look happy?’ asked/instructed Marcy.

  Eloise paused to breathe and to make sure that this time her hands were clasped together so they could not fidget and spoil the shot. KC answered first, as nervous as she from the unusual quiver in his voice, but gallant enough to step into the breach.

  ‘Hell, yeah, we look happy! I mean, we have so much more to investigate, but our first readings have told us that Sarah, as expected, is a daughter of our own Mitochondrial ‘Eve’ – so essentially an Anatomically Modern Human who would have looked not so different to many people around today. We weren’t so surprised either to find a miniscule percentage of Neanderthal DNA, although this would have become blended into her Homo sapiens ancestry millennia earlier, but it’s fascinating to wonder where and when and how? And we’ve had some other expectations confirmed.

  ‘For example, being a hunter-gatherer Sarah would have been lactose intolerant in adulthood. She also lacks the post-agricultural adaptation for increased amylase in the saliva to enhance the digestion of starches. We see no resistance to the kind of diseases that have plagued us since we began living in towns and cities, nor the sickle cell protection against malaria that’s common in modern African populations. Although, in general, she seems to have been remarkably robust, right, Eloise?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right – and we plan to look much more closely for genes associated with immune responses – it’s a key area of interest for us. You might wonder at the contemporary relevance of this as pathogens constantly evolve, but with climate change and the melting of the permafrost, or deep mining in the Arctic, or exploration of other areas that have been sealed off geologically for millennia, we may encounter archaic bacteria and viruses to which we ourselves have no immunity – and for which we are entirely unprepared.’

  Before Eloise could continue along this gloomy trajectory the director intercepted,
‘But you’ve found some other interesting things too, haven’t you, to do with behaviour?’ Marcy had now defaulted to her habitual impatience after that brief interval of mellowing with Max. (Eloise wondered if Marcy too had developed a soft spot for the young Aussie, with his crown of golden curls that glowed so angelically on screen. This notion surprised her as she’d assumed Marcy to be gay, certain sartorial choices suggesting preferences of another kind.) At last, however, Eloise had found some on-camera confidence. Not quite in the same league as Max perhaps, but now she jumped back into the interview to respond.

  ‘Yes, that’s right, we’ve also found startling suggestions of what we’d once thought of as ‘modern’ differentiations appearing much earlier than expected. Certain aspects of the Homo sapiens genome, in what’s called the Human Accelerated Region, have been around for a very long time so no surprise to see those. They distinguish us from other primates and affect things such as anatomy, metabolism, sweating, cognitive capacity and even language mutations, courtesy of the famous FOXP2 gene. These differences would have been present in all early humans, even before the split from a common ancestor with the Neanderthals and others. However, a few extra adaptations have been identified in the present day genome which were presumed to have arisen only much later, relatively speaking, and in response to more recent stimuli.’

  Eloise paused, familiar now with the need to leave gaps to assist the editing process and not sure whether or not she was rambling, but Marcy nodded that she should continue.

  ‘These have become fixed variations in today’s humans, encoding proteins for skin pigmentation, aspects of morphology, sperm motility, etcetera. However, research into families of particular social interest suggests that some genetic changes are related more to behaviour, and until Sarah, we saw them as adaptations to greater population density and social organisation.’

  At this point, KC raised a hand and interjected. ‘Actually, as I said earlier, we still have so much more investigation to do, especially into immunity, but I ought to say now that it was one of Dr Kluft’s priorities to look for the particular variation on the gene we’re talking about, the ‘warrior gene’ as it’s sometimes misleadingly known. Call it a hunch, I guess – but what she’s discovered has really rocked the boat.’

  Eloise was still unsure why one of the first places she went hunting along Sarah’s DNA was for the notorious MAOA allele and its two distinct versions but she’d been both flabbergasted and elated, even vindicated, by what she’d found. She smiled at KC as she accepted the generous baton of credit that he’d handed her and continued.

  ‘Yes, you see, everyone has at least one copy of the MAOA gene, as it’s properly known, which is responsible for the activity of key neurotransmitters affecting mood, stress-response, risk-taking etcetera. But remarkably, Sarah has what we’d previously believed was the more recent adaptation, known as MAOA-H. This is a high-frequency variation that’s common to the greater proportion of people today, but which we’d assumed had emerged only in response to civilisation. We see it as a version better suited to living in proximity and learning to get along in greater numbers, and in situations where instinctive, reactive or unorganised violence is no longer beneficial to survival.’

  Eloise took a breath, cleared her throat, and KC in his enthusiasm jumped back in.

  ‘Yeah, you see the modern high-frequency variation codes for higher activity of some crucial brain chemicals and so, we believe, allows for calmer or more considered responses to potentially violent situations. It doesn’t mean that Sarah or anyone who carries the so-called ‘good’ version of MAOA-H is incapable of violence, more that it’s less likely to be an uncontrollable response or a dangerous tendency. A carrier of the modern version may be more inclined to avoid a heated situation – they will still take calculated risks when necessary – but probably in a more measured and possibly empathetic manner. Unless of course circumstances are extreme… or maybe when testosterone or the mob mentality is running high.’

  KC was in full flow now and Eloise let him continue.

  ‘But the unlucky few to have the older, lower-frequency copy called MAOA-L are well represented in the world’s criminal and mental health institutions… or, hey, maybe even making up the more reckless elements of our governments, armed forces and stock markets. And yes, it has to be said, most of them are men because this riskier low-frequency version is found only on the X chromosome so is more commonly expressed in males. That’s because with only one X and one Y there’s no chance of the gene’s influence being overridden by a copy of the ‘better’ version. Females have a second helping of the X chromosome, so their odds of suppressing a bad copy are much better.’

  Eloise felt it was important to clarify this further and not to cast genetic aspersions on those with the ‘wrong’ version, so she interrupted. ‘Of course, the older version, doesn’t have to mean a life sentence of violent or impulsive behaviour and, in fact, most people who carry a copy live normal and decent lives. Willpower and cognitive choices play an important part and neurochemistry or wiring, if you like, can be positively affected in all kinds of ways, whether therapeutic or behavioural, and this can rewrite the risk of expression. However, studies have also shown that an explosive cocktail can emerge when the low-frequency version is compounded by a history of childhood abuse or neglect, or even by prolonged and serious stress. Some susceptible families can have siblings with a high-frequency copy who stay out of danger while those with a double helping of the low can get into all kinds of trouble, despite each sibling being raised in the same if difficult circumstances…’

  It seemed that Marcy wanted to avoid this section becoming a sociology lesson so interrupted to steer it back to its primary subject.

  ‘But what does all this mean in terms of Sarah?’

  Eloise edged forward, this leg of the relay now very much hers and the excitement still so fresh. Perhaps her imagining of Sarah’s distinctiveness had not been a self-indulgent projection? (And perhaps her struggle to stay objective throughout this process might be excused?)

  ‘Well, you see, the single copy of the modern or ‘good’ version of MAOA-H that we’ve found in Sarah opens up a thrilling new perspective on our ancestry. It makes everything much more fluid and suggests all kinds of possibilities. And having found this so surprisingly early in Homo sapiens, we decided to look for other genes associated with personality. For example, we found a marker in Sarah called DRD4, also known as the ‘Novelty Seeking’ gene. This acts on dopamine receptivity or the reward transmitter in the brain. It was probably already present in older hominin genomes but it would have been fundamentally important in the last 70,000 years of our history and vital to our drive for adventure, exploration and invention.’

  Eloise disguised a wry smile, as DRD4 was also the perfect scapegoat as far as Darius was concerned when it came to his own wander-lust (and his wandering lust). She knew that cause and effect was not so simple, however, and believed the gene expressed itself according to many factors, perhaps resulting in addictions for the unlucky or a more welcome spirit of innovation in others. However, once again she’d been unsurprised to find the short-repeat version of DRD4 in Sarah’s DNA. And there was more, so much more…

  ‘We’ve also found a polymorphism, or variation, connected with greater resilience to stress, which is of particular interest in clinical studies into depression. But all these discoveries have made me wonder,’ Eloise continued, risking a little speculation, ‘whether Sarah and her kind might have been a crucible of early mutation. Perhaps even an ‘ark’, if you like, of particular strengths and abilities? Of potentially valuable resistance. I have to ask myself what part she, or rather I should say, what part any of her surviving descendants may have played in the later millennia – both at home in Africa and during the most significant wave of human migration out of Africa and gradually around the globe?’

  What Eloise really wanted to ask but knew was too much conjecture at this stage (even with the isot
ope results) was whether Sarah belonged right where she was found, or whether she really may have escaped the Toban apocalypse and re-migrated to the African Refugia, that teeming nursery of life… somehow serving there as a repository of particular genetic information and a profound knowledge of viable migration routes? And, if so, from how far had she come? And indeed how? Had she been alone (surely she could not have survived alone?) or with some ragtag gang of desperate exiles?

  Darius was still excavating at the site, slowly due to the environmental sensitivities, but there had been no further archaeological clues as yet. Perhaps they would never fully decipher the mysteries of Sarah. Nevertheless, Eloise reassured herself, ‘Light will be thrown.’ She felt somehow that Sarah’s usefulness to humanity was only beginning to unfold.

  She became aware that she had paused too long but felt determined to have the last word. She carried on, levelling her comments at KC with a brief moment of direct eye contact, before looking back to camera.

  ‘We can never really know the complete story of Sarah, but she is such an invaluable gift. The comparative study of her genome has implications from understanding our deep ancestry right through to modern medicine. Who knows what else Sarah might teach us, or allow us to achieve?’

  ‘OK,’ Marcy decided, ‘I think that’s a good place to leave it for today.’

  *

  She has noticed something. She is not sure if it comes from the growing independence of her daughter, or the support of her new friends, or the gradual renewal of the world. Perhaps it is because of the time she can now take to stop, to look without desperation, to listen deeply, to go within. But the days seem to last longer, the nights are less fearful and she is not so quick to anger.